


checkmate

by cominupforair



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Fluff, Jealous Arthur, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Scruffy Pendragon Fest (Merlin), but also Oblivious Merlin, like seriously they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cominupforair/pseuds/cominupforair
Summary: Arthur hates board games. Especially when he’s playing against his insolent manservant.That's why he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. At the tavern. Playing chess against Merlin. With Gwaine whistling every single time Merlin's pieces capture Arthur's.Written for the Scruffy Pendragon Fest
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 604
Collections: Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning: I've never played chess in my life. I don't even know why I included a game of chess in this fic. Blame it on this AWESOME fest. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this fic xxx

Arthur hates board games. 

He isn’t made for board games. Merlin says that he‘s supposed to be good at them, it’s strategy and he‘s a warrior and a leader and a king after all.

But Arthur really hates board games, especially when he’s playing against his insolent manservant. 

That's why he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. At the tavern. Playing chess against Merlin. With Gwaine whistling every single time Merlin's pieces capture Arthur's. 

Right, Gwaine! That’s probably his fault. Arthur wouldn't have downed half of his pint in a single go if it wasn’t for Gwaine. 

Bloody Gwaine groping his manservant in a tavern. In front of him, in front of everybody. His arm sneaking possessively around Merlin's waist. One of his hands gripping the back of Merlin's blue shirt, the other carding through Merlin’s short hair and ruffling. 

And to make things worse, Merlin really doesn’t seem to care, he laughs easily with his head thrown back and his throat exposed. Fuck, his throat and his Adam’s apple. Arthur’s heart sizes painfully in his chest. He’s been dreaming of wrapping his hand around that throat so many times, letting his hand slip lower, letting his thumb circle the jut of his neck, moving his hand around his throat and cupping the back of his head. And trail his fingers along his skin and learn his body slowly and carefully. Arthur wishes his fingers were brushing over Merlin’s wiry short hair. Not Gwaine’s. It should be him. He should be the one affectionally scratching the back of Merlin’s head.

But Merlin doesn’t seem to care. Not even when Gwaine whispers something in his ear, smirking and glancing in Arthur's direction before smooching his cheek. Too close to Merlin's mouth for Arthur’s liking. 

And so Arthur finds himself clutching his pint of ale like his life depends on it, his knuckles white from the effort. The other patrons of the tavern are merry, but Arthur’s skin is too hot, too tight, he wishes he could order more ale and drink himself into oblivion. He feels like he’s been dragged on the ground for miles and his head is throbbing – damn Gwaine!

Everything is Gwaine’s fault. Arthur wouldn’t have grown a beard if it wasn’t for Gwaine. Every lady in the castle has a thing for Gwaine and his beard. 

Scratch that.

Every living and breathing thing in Camelot has a thing for Gwaine and his beard. 

Even Merlin. 

He doesn’t really understand why Merlin fancies Gwaine. Ok, he has luscious locks and a well-groomed beard, but he’s short, rude, impatient and- and his feet smell. Arthur feels like a child when he belittles one of his best knights just to make himself feel better. But he is tipsy and petty and jealousy is a green eyed monster. 

Anyway, yes, Arthur let his beard grow as a poor attempt of imitating Gwaine and drawing Merlin’s attention. 

The ladies of the castle loved it. The men were copying his style. Even the knights complimented him on his blond-reddish stubble. 

Merlin didn’t even notice. 

Or rather, he did notice. Arthur had caught Merlin talking about it. With Gwaine, unsurprisingly. The two were huddled together in a corner of the castle, a hidden spot close to the kitchens. They probably thought they were being sneaky. But Arthur had caught them. He’d seen Merlin grazing Gwaine’s beard and saying, “Arthur is letting his beard grow”. Arthur itched to know what Gwaine had replied and how he’d acted, he wanted to know if they’d kissed or not, but he had heard his guards approaching him from behind and he couldn’t be caught eavesdropping. In retrospect, he’s glad his guards distracted him because Arthur doesn’t think he’s ready to acknowledge that the person he’s been harbouring feelings for is in love with someone else. 

Arthur is not jealous. He cannot be jealous, he has no right to be jealous. Not when he has always masked his romantic feelings for Merlin as platonic affection at best. Merlin probably thinks he’s just a possessive prat. Because, well, maybe because Arthur acts like a possessive prat when the visiting nobles monopolise his attention, when Merlin cheers for the other knights during training, when Merlin collects herbs for Gaius instead of attending to him. And when he goes to the tavern for a pint with Leon, only to find Merlin and Gwaine already there, drinking together. 

But that’s not the point. The point is that now Arthur is drunkenly playing chess in the tavern. And he is losing. 

Merlin is standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot, tipsy enough to forget his place and publicly mock his king. Not that he usually cares about titles.

"Do you give up, Sire?" he asks, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. That Sire sounding like an insult on his lips.

"You wish."

The thing is: Arthur is a sore loser and everybody knows it. That’s why his knights always let him win when they’re playing board games – which, thankfully, is not very often. Merlin is the only person in Camelot who has the guts of challenging the King. And he knows it. Therefore, Arthur should give up before he makes a fool of himself in front of the crowd that has gathered to watch them. He is left with nothing but a few pieces. It’s a question of time before his king is left at the mercy of Merlin. But he can’t give up. Not even when every single time he tries focusing on the game, his mind goes back to Merlin being cosy with Gwaine. And Gwaine kissing the corner of Merlin’s mouth. 

Inevitably, when Arthur makes his next move, he knows it’s the wrong one. 

Merlin smiles smugly. That cheeky bastard. 

Merlin, pleased-as-punch, leans a little bit forward 'till his face is close to Arthur's and he can whisper in his ear. 

"If I were you, I'd resign now, I'm about to capture the king."

And then Merlin’s grin widens. He really has no idea what he’s doing to Arthur, has he? He should probably listen to Merlin, back off, go home, try to forget about his unrequited feelings and sleep, but ale makes him bold.

"I'd assumed you had a preference for knights," Arthur says, quickly glancing at Gwaine. Merlin frowns but follows his gaze. It takes him only a moment before realisation dawns on him. He thought he was being subtle, didn’t he? 

Merlin's mouth hangs open for a heartbeat before he scolds his expression back into a frown. And then he grabs Arthur's wrist, turns to the other patrons of the tavern with a fake smile and solemnly announces, "Folks, that's all for tonight, I'm sorry but the royal prat needs his beauty sleep.” 

The tavern erupts into chaos. Loud groans rise from the crowd who had gathered to witness the showdown between the king and his servant, but Merlin unapologetically drags Arthur out of the tavern. Arthur threatens him with hours, days, weeks in the stocks if they don’t go back, but Merlin stops only when they are in an isolated alley, far from eavesdropping ears and questioning eyes.

Panting heavily, Merlin shoves him against the wall. Arthur can’t read his expression, the fresh air has sobered him up a bit, but Merlin looks stern, almost angry and Arthur has no idea why. Arthur is the one who’s supposed to be angry, not Merlin. 

"What the hell came over you? A king doesn't back off, never, I was about to-"

"What did you mean?" Merlin interrupts him.

"What?"

Merlin inhales heavily, looks straight at him and then clarifies. "What did you mean when you said that I prefer knights?"

"Well, your boyfriend..." Arthur trails off, suddenly embarrassed. He looks away for a second, pretending he doesn’t see the furrow of Merlin’s brows. It’s not like Merlin ever explicitly told him that he’s in a relationship with Gwaine, but it’s obvious. 

"My boyfriend?" Merlin's voice is high-pitched, almost incredulous.

"Gwaine!" 

"Gwaine?" Merlin repeats, perplexed if not a little bit irritated. "You think that I'm screwing Gwaine?" his voice rises, he’s almost yelling.

Arthur is probably still very drunk because, regardless of Merlin's evident anger, he replies, "You've been flirting with him all night long. And I have eyes, Merlin. You’re all over him. Hiding with him in dark corners of the castle, spending your nights at the tavern with him, sitting close to him and- and giggling.”

Merlin is now staring at him, intently. He opens his mouth as if to answer but then he closes it back. Baffled. There is a retort on his tongue. One, two, three seconds of silence before a strange gleam flashes through Merlin's eyes.

"Why wouldn't I flirt with Gwaine? He's fit, good-looking, he clearly fancies me." Merlin now is almost hovering over him, their faces so close that Arthur can feel Merlin's breath on his skin. Merlin’s just half an inch taller than him, but it feels like he’s towering over him now. Arthur swallows. "Am I not allowed to flirt with him?”

“But he’s Gwaine, he’d flirt with a pint of ale if it could speak. He’d probably flirt with it anyway.”

“Says who? You? You’re always flirting with the noble ladies who come visit the castle. You even flirted with Lady Ragnar even though she’s old enough to be your great grandmother!”

“I’m not flirting with anyone, I’m just observing my duties as the king of Camelot. It’s called being courteous and well-mannered, Merlin.”

“And being courteous and well-mannered means prancing around the castle with your posh manners and your fancy clothes and your golden hair and your damn beard?” Merlin’s smirk turns sours for a second. His voice cracks, but he tries to hide it. “I bet you grew one just to seduce the Lady Heather who’s visiting next, right?”

This is how Merlin looks right now: red cheekbones and red lips, anger all over his face, Adam’s apple jumping up and down, eyes wide and dark, glistening, hair falling into his eyes. Arthur’s heart skips a beat in the effort not to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair off Merlin’s forehead. Not to reach out and touch. Knowing that his touch will not be welcomed because Merlin thinks he fancies the Lady Heather. 

One. Two. Three. Arthur snaps. “I grew the beard for you, you idiot!”

Well that, that shuts Merlin up. The problem is that he is still standing so close to him, Arthur can literally see his eyes widening, feel his breath on his face when Merlin lets out a harsh breath. 

It only lasts a second because Merlin wrenches himself away from him. As if he just realised how close they were and he needs to put some space between them. As if he can’t bear to be with Arthur anymore. 

Merlin’s face is half hidden in shadow and Arthur can’t see his expression well. He reaches out to touch him, but Merlin pulls away with a soft protest in his throat. Arthur drops his hand. It hurts. A bit. Ok, more than a bit. It’s not like Arthur was hoping Merlin would suddenly forget everything about Gwaine and magically return his feelings as soon as Arthur confessed his undying love for him. (Arthur didn’t actually confess his love, he just said that he grew a beard for Merlin, that gesture can be interpreted in a thousand different ways, right?) 

Merlin looks at him for the longest time, completely silent. But then his lips curl into a grimace and he yells back at him. 

“You are an idiot! You’re probably the only person in Camelot who doesn’t know that I spend all my time with Gwaine because he’s a friend – a friend, Arthur - and he’s helping me keep my mind off the colossal crush I have on the King of Camelot!”

The only words Arthur’s brain registers are “colossal crush on the King of Camelot”. He doesn’t even register that he is the King of Camelot before his mouth takes the initiative and replies with a shrill, “You what?”

Merlin doesn’t even hear him. Gone are the sassiness and self-confidence from before. Now he’s just Merlin, talking and speeding up, like this is the embarrassing bit, not Arthur accidentally revealing his topmost secret and confessing that he let his beard grow for him. “And I was managing. I swear I was managing. I didn’t want a stupid crush to change things between us, I value our friendship more than that. But then you had to go and-“ he gestures towards Arthur’s face. “You had to go and grow a beard.”

Merlin looks frustrated. He’s folded his arms and he is looking away. He says, “I always assumed you knew I had feelings for you and you just pretended to be clueless not to hurt me. But then you grow a beard and you have the entire castle fawning over you and your good looks. And coincidentally you also plan for the Lady Heather and her father to visit the castle. And the other servants say that a marriage with her would be beneficial for the kingdom and it would ensure a lasting peace. Not to mention that she is beautiful and she’d be a great queen-” 

Merlin leaves no room for pause, like he’s been stewing for days and he’s finally letting go. Like he has nothing to lose. 

Arthur reaches out a hand. “Merlin,” he says. Hoping to stop the torrent of words. Hoping he can make things right. Merlin meets his eyes. He hesitates, but this time he takes his hand. 

Arthur draws him close, back into his personal space. Back to where Arthur is just a breath away from Merlin and he can stare into his eyes. Merlin tenses a little, but he doesn’t push away, doesn’t tell Arthur to leave, doesn’t tell Arthur to let go of him. 

Arthur reaches out and places his hand at Merlin’s nape, feels the tension in his muscles unknot and then he says, “I don’t care about Lady Heather. I never did and I never will. Borrowing your words, I’ve been harbouring a colossal crush on the manservant of the King of Camelot for quite a lot of time.”

Merlin looks at him like Arthur is the biggest idiot he’s ever met. He probably has a point, but Arthur is not going to tell him lest that gets to his head. Merlin laughs softly and asks, “You really grew a beard because you were jealous of Gwaine and you wanted to impress me?”

And then Arthur says, “Did it work?”, but Merlin’s reply gets lost, somewhere, between Merlin’s lips curling into a blinding smile and Arthur kissing that smile. What is Arthur even supposed to do when he has Merlin in his arms and Merlin’s eyes on him? Not kiss him? It’s hardly his fault Merlin’s reply is swallowed by his lips, Arthur is only human.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to know what you thought of it :) <3


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